Coping
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PreRent] Roger's finally coming back to himself, however slowly – Mark's still trying to cope. Cowritten by Evie. [One shot]


When Roger pushed open the door to his room and stepped out, he expected Mark to be sitting on the couch reading or something, the way he had been every time Roger had come out of his room since getting back from rehab – admittedly only once or twice that he'd actually come out. He wasn't. 

"Mark?" he called softly, just to make sure he wasn't in another room, but he got no answer. He stood there for a second, in the middle of the room, and then crossed to the kitchen to grab a box of crackers before retreating to his room, leaving the door open so he could hear when Mark came back.

It wasn't too long before the door slid open slightly and Mark came in, depositing his messenger bag on the couch and taking off the jacket he'd worn despite it being June. Roger paused for a moment before pushing himself off the bed and walking to the door of his bedroom, stopping there and frowning at him. "Where were you?"

Mark froze momentarily, startled, then shook his head slightly and grabbed a coffee mug out of the sink, rinsing it out briefly so he could use it again. "I had an appointment," he said softly, shivering a little and putting the mug, now filled with water, into the microwave.

Roge rdidn't move from the doorway, watching Mark in silence as he moved around the kitchen, and for a moment or two he didn't speak. "An appointment? For what?"

"To check my dosage," Mark said almost emotionlessly, grabbing a tea bag and noting to himself that he only had three tea bags left and would have to go shopping soon.

"To check your..." Roger trailed off, then said softly. "Oh. I didn't know that you... that you were back on..." He gave up and shook his head, stepping out into the living room and sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, oddly tense and uncertain here, outside of the solitude of his room.

Mark shrugged and took his mug out when the microwave beeped, dropping the tea bag in and staring as the brown of the tea snaked through the water. "It was sort of inevitable after... after what happened," Mark said, still quiet and withdrawn. It was almost like they were back in high school again, only this time it was so much worse. Because this time it was Roger's fault.

"Yeah. I guess." He looked away from Mark, out to the window – not really looking or seeing anything, just to avoid having to see _Mark_ like that. It had been years since he'd seen him that way, and... "I – I just didn't think..."

It hadn't occurred to him. His best friend, and he hadn't thought for a second how much he had to be hurting, never crossed his mind.

"Of course you didn't," Mark said simply, not _quite_ managing to conceal the bitterness in his voice. _Of course you didn't notice your best friend had died a little inside, you were too busy thinking about how _you _were gonna die, leaving him completely alone..._ Mark sighed and clenched his jaw slightly. He wanted so badly to _say _that, to try to make Roger understand that he was hurting _just as much_, that he was _just as scared_. But he couldn't. All he could do was stand in the kitchen and stare at his tea.

Roger hunched his shoulders and fought the urge to just curl up on the couch and bury his head in his arms, pretend this wasn't happening and he hadn't heard any of that. He hadn't missed the bitterness, couldn't with his usual attention to voices and inflections, but he didn't acknowledge it, still didn't look at Mark and yet couldn't force himself to get up and go back to his room.

Mark took a sip of his tea (almost too hot, but not quite) and looked up at Roger finally. He was too thin, he looked older, worn out. Despite everything, Mark still cared about him, hated seeing him like this. "It's... it's good to see you out of your room," he said finally, one corner of his outh turning up in a half-hearted smile that didn't come_ close_ to reaching his eyes.

Roger missed the smile, eyes still downcast, but he swallowed hard and his mouth quirked into an equally half-hearted smile. "Yeah. Um, thanks." He twisted his hands together for a minute, restlessly, and then put his hands on his knees, fingers digging into his pant leg. "Look, I..." He stopped, took a breath, and then shook his head. "Never mind."

"No," Mark snapped, a little harsher than he meant to, an unspoken fear lurking under the surface of his voice. "Not 'never mind'. That's what she said, and now she's..." Mark's voice broke and he trailed off, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to remember the paramedics leaving, the blood in the bathtub, Collins trying not to cry when he told him his baby sister was...

He couldn't cry. He was alive, he had to take care of Roger. He _could not _cry.

Roger flinched, his own eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry. That... was all I wanted to say, really." Sorry for what, he couldn't say. For not thinking about Mark. For not seeing April was upset that morning. For everything he had and hadn't done, but it wouldn't come out, he couldn't say it, so he just left it there.

"I know," Mark whispered brokenly, quickly scrubbing at his eyes when a couple of tears slipped past his defenses and past his cheeks. He_ needed_ her right now, to be his rock, to tell him it was okay to cry, to hold him, to just be his _sister_... but she wasn't here, and he shouldn't have left her alone that day, he'd_ known_ she was going to tell Roger, he should've stayed home, been there for her, like she'd always been there for him. The tears were coming too fast to stop, and Mark just stood in the kitchen hugging himself and crying all the tears he hadn't let himself cry since everything had happened, all the shoulds and woulds and what ifs overwhelming him.

Roger looked up at him slowly, partially out of the corner of his eye, and just watched him for a moment before instinct overwhelmed hesitation and he lurched off the couch to walk over to Mark and put a hand cautiously on his shoulder. He'd barely touched him these past few weeks, avoided physical contact if it was at all possible, and wasn't even sure if he was allowed to anymore.

"And... thanks," he said, his voice still soft. "For... staying around. I know you didn't have to, and I know I don't deserve it..."

He wanted to reach out and put his arms around Mark, to do... _something_, but there was the lingering doubt, the fear that Mark would shove him away, yell at him, he didn't even know what.

Something inside Mark broke, and he lunged forward, clutching at Roger's shirt and nearly sobbing as he clung to his best friend.

"I had to," he said, trying not to let his tears obscure the words. "I couldn't lose both of you at once," he added in a shattered whisper. He was_ going _to lose Roger too, it was only a matter of time, and he couldn't handle even thinking about that.

Roger froze for an instant, and then threw his arms around Mark, pulling him into a tight hug. He couldn't think of any answer to that, after a moment or tow realized there was no answer, or at least none that he couldn't see making it worse, so he just stood there, wordlessly holding on to Mark and trying not to let it show just how much it shook him to see his best friend crying like this.

Eventually, Mark's sobs quieted, his tears slowed, and his death grip on Roger loosened. He sniffed a couple of times and scrubbed at his arms with his sleeve. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Roger let go of Mark the instant his grip loosened, and took a step back. He knew better than to question the apology, simply shook his head and told him quietly, "Don't."

Mark's mouth quirked into an approximation of a smile. "Right," he said, running a hand through his hair and glancing at his watch. "Okay, I'll see what I can scrape up for dinner..." He walked over to the couch and rummaged around in his bag before pausing and looking uncertainly at Roger. "You... gonna eat tonight?" he asked, trying not to sound too pleading.

For a second or two, Roger didn't say anything, just bit his lip, looking quietly at Mark. "I don't... I mean, I already..." He stopped himself, sighed, and gave a tense smile. "Yeah, sure. A little."

Mark nodded, looking the closest to happy he had in a while, though it was mostly just relief. "Okay," he said, returning to his bag for a moment before pulling out a pill bottle. He shook one out and swallowed it dry. "It'll probably just be sandwiches," he said, sounding a little apologetic.

Roger shrugged and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, though it seemed almost more a defense than anything else. A defense against what, he wasn't sure, wasn't going to begin to try to guess. "'s fine."

"'Kay." Mark started moving around the kitchen then stopped, chewing his lip and looking Roger over, as if he was trying to see something just under the surface. "Hey... Roger?"

Roger looked over at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Yeah?"

Mark smiled slightly – a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm glad you're back."


End file.
